Bookmark, A Poem

The book was shabby, its cover torn and worn and drawn all over the map,the way I felt. Leaving home. Leaving you.I trace my fingers over the inscription, "Go get them tiger," you wroteand wrapped it in a newspaper which I keep as a bookmarkbecause home is Newsday and the comics section I pulled out to readover my cereal before school, but only after you were done reading first.The paper your Bible, words your daily breadsomething to eat while you read is your breakfast.and I wonder how you could wake up morning after morning without so muchas a whimper,of the long days, the backbreaking days, back to back appointmentswith people who saw you was their caretakerwho could not do it themselvesthe bedpans and the piss and the Jell-O cups stacked,untouched and wasted plasticwhen you made us recycle everything, sorting and baggingtying those read and used and worn papers with twineand stacking themoutside for the recycling truckits blue so fabulous against the morning sunwaiting for the buswatching you drive offa quick honk the hornand gone.Written last week during a Wild Write with Sherry. From an August Moon prompt by Wolf and Word.